( the man cursed loudly as the pebble hit his neck—he had become increasingly more annoyed by the rather foul smelling occupancy of the street rats—and burst out of his seat to find the culprits, causing his family to become disturbed and panic. niall gasped—he had no time to reply or explain or do anything, he had to act now. he always let rip when the family knew of his presence—if it was just a bad smell, it would put them off their appetite, but they could always move to another destination—not like it would help, but still—but if they knew it was more of an attack, like a real skunk’s weapon, then they’d want to get up and go.
niall clutched both hands around his viciously gurgling stomach and grunted. an explosion of foul, loud gas erupted out of his backside—with the sound of a powerful, throttling tuba and the smell of—-oh, god. it was bad. not just p.u bad, it was bad. the stench of warm, rotten eggs, sulfur and sickly, oozing garbage suffocated the atmosphere around both boys and the family, and they reacted just as niall wanted them to. they screamed and fumbled and quickly dispersed, shouting complaints and acting as though the world had ended because they couldn’t finish their god damn garlic bread. niall watched them leave and sprung into action, grabbing the beaten-up bagpack beside him and heading toward the table. he encouraged the other to join him. )
( he began to push the large quantities of half-eaten food into his bag, which had been layered in napkins to avoid staining—probably the only regard a street orphan could have for physical appearance was making sure his bag was in good condition and didn’t get gross and moldy. the good thing about niall’s flatulence problem was that the police and staff kept well away—so did everyone else, mind you, but… he had come to accept it. sort of. )
